


Love & Loss

by SnowConesCentral



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Cancer, Fix-It, Fluff, I'm surprised too, M/M, There actually is a lot of fluff in this, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-25 01:13:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowConesCentral/pseuds/SnowConesCentral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When cancer strikes one half of a whole. There is only so much the other can do, but watch on helplessly.<br/>Where Phil is struck, and Clint has to cope with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This began as a challenge from a friend to write out of my comfort zone, and write I did.  
> &  
> This is dedicated to everyone who is, knows, or loves someone who has been touched by the cruel villain that is cancer.
> 
>  
> 
> Completely un-beta'd.  
> All and every mistake is my own.  
> I decided to split it into two chapters because the tone greatly differed.  
> Also, I own none of these characters, Marvel does, I just play with them.
> 
> Edit: Cleaned up a couple of strays that I missed earlier. Which is proof that one should never edit while coming down from a day of double paper examinations.

It isn't a demi-god who takes Phil away. It isn't even at the unending hands of villainy or mob bosses that came to pass. It is cancer, sudden and lethal. It crops out of nowhere to strike them, and before they know it, it's snatching Phil away. He pales by the day, and chemo can only do so much.

"It's a Stage 3 metastasis," the doctor says. "But there is no reason to believe your life ends here. We have a whole line of experimental medicine…" She is mollifying them. Clint knows this, only he isn't listening anymore. His hands are clamped around Phil's, vice-like and maybe even a little painfully too. He vaguely feels Phil’s thumb rub reassuringly over the inside of his wrist, but his head is cotton and the doctor's office suddenly seems stiflingly small. He begins to wonder if this is what it's like to listen in from inside a fish bowl. Clint knows he is being selfish, the way he clutches at Phil – stonewalled and unable to reel himself back into his body long enough to comfort the man of his life – but there is only so much of him that is 'superhuman', and this cannot be happening again. He can't be losing the only other good thing in his life – the one person who had stayed long enough to love him back.

And Clint, he was good, damn it. He kept his head down, he didn't kill anymore, he helped homeless people, strays, the helpless. He was an Avenger for crying out loud! He helped save the world more times than he could count, and Phil was supposed to be the one thing the universe offered let him keep as recompense for all the shit it dealt him. But now it seems, it's taking him away too.

Clint is after all, only human so he breaks down, ugly and pitiful the moment they reach home. Through it all Phil holds and comforts him. He doesn't say, _it'll be alright_. He doesn't promise that this is something they will both triumph over. He just cradles Clint in his arms, gentle and precious until the wracking sobs stop, and Clint dries up every last reserve of tears his body has to offer. They fall asleep on the couch like that, Phil in his tear sodden shirt and Clint wrapped protectively around him as if the act itself would keep him out of the greedy hands of reapers.

In the days that pass, Phil solders on like the consummate professional that he is; heroic and steadfast, and Clint watches on as half of his whole withers away. Tony comes in to propose brilliant multitudes of ways to cure Phil. Bruce joins in as a comrade-in-arms, and they work tirelessly through the days and nights in hopes of bringing into fruition something revolutionary. Thor prepositions magic, and even behests the skills of his mother, Frigga alongside the best healers of his realm. At one point, even Loki is brought into the picture - much to the chagrin of everyone else. Steve offers up the use of his blood and DNA into developing ways to help Phil, but Phil just shakes his head and declines as politely and firmly as anyone could an earnest Captain America. Natasha helps in ways only she could. She takes over Clint's missions and posts if they take him away from Phil for too long. She also helps Phil wrangle junior agents in addition to other otherwise unsavoury footwork where Phil feels kind enough to relegate. Everyone rallies in Phil’s wake, and it’s an inspiring sight to see.

Phil marvels one day – over hot cocoa indoors on a chilly night – at how much the Avengers family has come together over this, and Clint takes it upon himself to remind Phil that he was the glue that brought the whole team together right when it was about to tear itself apart. There is a happy gleam in Phil's eyes when he tells Clint that it is amazing, and Clint, all too eager to keep that wonderful look on his face, replies with equal feeling, however much it hurts. He lets his hand rest lightly over the side of Phil's neck where his thumb has chosen to rub circles over the pulse there. The spot thrums with life, and it's a reminder to Clint that Phil is still here, nestled comfortably between his legs. They're sprawled together on a couch in their home, and Phil is haphazardly draped in blankets. His heart tells him that all is well for now, and they needn't worry about anything.

When Phil looks up at him, the revere breaks, and his eyes are twinkling. They are tinged with the faint allure of growing desire, so Clint all but presses forward and ducks down to savour the taste of Phil's lips against his. He lets his tongue wander where ever Phil takes it, and in that time, he wonders just how long more they will be able to keep this.

Phil doesn't slow down in his workload with the Avengers, or at S.H.I.E.L.D. – despite Fury’s repeated threats to fire him if he doesn’t _‘Sit the fuck down for one goddammed minute’_. So much so that he gets a mild scare, and a fight rears its terrible head. It's nasty and hurtful, and in the midst of it, Phil's first Christmas present from Clint shatters against the kitchen floor. Its once-a-coffee-mug and veneered purple remains lay on the floor, sullen and broken, and Clint storms out of their house in a flurry of indignant rage.

Hours later, Clint slinks back in. His eyes are a swollen, waterlogged mess, and the veins in his arms are stark from where they were primed with hours of rigourous bow pulling. There is a wrapped box under his hand, and bright red Christmas ribbons cascade down its side. Phil is in the living room. Blankets are pooled around his form from where he has taken up residence on the sofa, and his eyes are fixed steadily onto the TV. Those same eyes are rimmed red, and there is a brief flicker in them as Clint enters the hall, but nothing else follows. The way in which Phil suddenly seems so small startles Clint. There is distinct hurt lined across the subtle slouch in Phil's shoulders, and it is a sign of undeniable helplessness. He immediately hates himself for the selfish monster that he's become – for turning on Phil at his weakest – and swears upon every fibre in his body, to every deity he's known, that he will never repeat himself. Once his legs find themselves again, he slinks forward into the room slow and meek. His body is moving on its own accord and before he knows it, he finds himself kneeling in front of Phil. He places his forehead on Phil's knees, and his hands are deserting the wrapped gift in favour of curling around his husband's blanketed shins. It feels very much like a supplication, and when Phil's fingers thread gently through his hair, it turns into forgiveness, so much so that Clint lets out a sob at that.

They never talk about it again, but Clint notices the changes in Phil's work ethics. He doesn't work as hard or as long anymore, and he always makes sure there is enough left in his day to recuperate.

The remains of the shattered mug have long been cleaned up and put away, but one day Clint sees it jigsawed and pieced together, sitting by the new mug he bought in replacement. He also notices the band-aid around Phil's right forefinger along with countless other small nicks covering his hands. Unsure on what to do with that bit of information, he kisses each cut instead, and grazes his mouth over the band-aid before laying a long, soft kiss on Phil's lips. They make love that night, but it's slow and tender, and Clint feels so fragile he thinks he's about to break, so when the tears stream down his face, Phil doesn't say a word but kisses them away too.

Phil becomes worse after that. He relapses more times than is physically possible and it scares Clint right down to his bones. None of the new medical trials are working, and Tony and Bruce work themselves into a tizzy over finding newer ways to save Phil. Thor makes countless trips to and from Asgard that it dizzies Clint just to watch, and Natasha and Steve have taken up to becoming permanent fixtures at the ward Phil is staying in.

It is late in the afternoon when Clint returns to Phil's room in the ward. He is carrying a bag of Phil's favourite pastries and a bottle of Gatorade for himself. Phil is preparing to lie back on the reclined hospital bad, and Clint catches him tuck something black and bulky back into the top drawer by his bed. He doesn't comment on it. In its place, he grins at Phil and moves to help settle him in. "It's all right. I've got it," Phil muses as Clint's hands move to ease his back. “You're the boss,” he relents, then he’s fiddling with the Velcro straps on his pants, more for the lack of anything to do. “Oh, hey! I got those danish rolls you like from McCarthy's," he suddenly remembers, and he is positively crooning as he brings them over from the side table to place them on the meal table by the foot of Phil's bed. "They're hot and fresh out of the oven!" The preening is ridiculous, and Phil indulges in his husband's uplifted spirits, if only because it gives him strength too. "You may feed them to me once they've cooled down," he counters with a smirk, and Clint laughs out loud; whole and lighthearted. "As you wish, my liege."

They watch a couple of Phil's favourite programmes after that. The pastries are almost gone where Clint has shredded them into small bits so that Phil could chew and swallow them down without throwing them back up. He even steals himself a couple of bites meant for Phil which in turn earns him a grizzly growl. It's so like Phil, and the normality of it causes him to burst out laughing again. They continue like that until tears begin to touch the corners of his eyes because he's been laughing so hard he's forgotten how to breathe.

By nightfall, Clint is seated by Phil's bed with his hand woven in his through an opening in the bed railing. His thumb is stroking lazy patterns across the back of Phil's knuckles and on occasion, it makes long, reverent sweeps over Phil's wedding band. The TV is turned on at a low buzz, and the nightshift nurses have just made their rounds. Phil heart monitor beeps steadily, and his breathing is slow. They've taken him off the breathing apparatus for now given that he's shown progress in the last few days. It has been wheeled to the side since – still there; sentient as always and ready to stand in when needed. It's almost peaceful, so Clint closes his eyes, and tries to gather some sleep, but a short while later he stirs awake. Phil's palm is shifting under his, and he feels his hand being lifted. The awkward angle causes his forearm to bump against the railing it is trapped in, and he turns his head, about to protest when he feels dry, cracked lips press to his fingers. There is such feeble strength behind the gesture that something inside Clint turns brittle and breaks apart at the sight. He is losing Phil faster than expected, and he is so utterly helpless about it. "Are you all right there?" He hears Phil ask, and Clint lies with a smile. "Yeah, I'm doing good." He knows Phil knows it's lie, but he doesn't call him out on it. Instead Phil smiles back, warm and crinkly. His beautiful blue eyes are still sharp, and when his smile reaches his eyes, Clint finds himself mirroring it. He thinks that if he gazes at them long enough, he could pretend that Phil is all right, that all of this never happened. He squeezes Phil's hand encouragingly, and leans over the bed to place a quick peck on his forehead. "Get some sleep," he whispers softly. "Tomorrow's a long day ahead."

Except, tomorrow never comes.

Phil relapses in the early hours of the morning, and there is nothing the doctors can do to help him. Clint is shoved out of the room, and he watches through the observation window as doctors and nurses fuss frantically over him. Drugs are pumped into Phil's system and his breathing apparatus is brought back online. They are fighting for him with every second that they've got, and Clint wonders what he did wrong the night before because Phil was getting better. He was getting better, and they were going to go home.

He somehow registers Natasha's arms wrapping themselves around him with enough strength to protect him from the world – from himself even. Only, it is all for naught, and Clint watches as Phil flatlines for the last time. His vision blurs, and the world crumbles in on itself. He knows he is completely loosing himself in the hospital corridor, but there is nothing they can do about that either.


	2. Chapter 2

Phil gets a soldier's funeral, and Clint looks on as the guards fold up Phil's flag in swift, precised movements before handing it to him. Grieving widows get the flags at soldiers' funerals, he remembers, and his fingers grip hard at the material.

He doesn't cry – he's all cried out now – and he vaguely remembers Fury's eulogy speech before that. The Avengers take him home once it is over before anyone else can approach him to give him their condolences. They flank him like members of the royal guard as he walks back to the awaiting limousine. The drive back to Phil and Clint's home is quiet and sombre with everyone piled into one car. Thor is fiddling with the strap of Mjolnir, and Tony and Steve are sharing the same far off distant look. Bruce's head is bowed in his hands, and they can hear the small sobs that escape him every now and then. Natasha is stoic beside Clint, a warm presence by his side, silent and understanding, and he has never been more grateful for her or for everyone else in the car than in that moment.

His extended family leaves him to his devices in the living room as they busy themselves in other areas of the house. They get it cleaned up, throw out the rubbish, and someone even starts dinner that unfortunately only turns into cinders. Clint is going through the motions of sorting out Phil's belongings from the hospital when he finds a shoebox marked with his name on it. He recalls the box from the time Phil secretly tucked it away into a drawer. His name is written in Phil's familiar scrawl, and it instantly piques his curiosity. He brushes his fingers over the letters; tracing them as if Phil was there himself, writing them in. Eventually, he lifts the lid off the box to find a collection of minidiscs, they are mostly home videos recorded over their time together, and Clint is about to close the lid when a bright purple disc catches his eye. He picks it up and there is a label over it that reads: To Clint, and the Avengers.

“Uh…guys!” Clint calls. “Yep. Whatchu need, hombre,” pops Tony’s head from around the living room walkway. Clint holds up the purple disc. “Know anything about this?”

“I- No, not that I can say.”

“It’s addressed to the six of us.”

“Really?”

“It’s from Phil.”

“Oh…” Tony’s face falls at that, and he’s about to say something when Clint speaks. “Could you get the others in here for a bit?”  
“Uh, yeah, sure.” And Tony disappears back around the corner yelling, “Avengers Assemble! Living room! Pronto!”

“What is it, Clint?” Steve is the first in through, followed by Natasha, Bruce and Thor taking up the rear. Tony is suspiciously lagging behind.

“Phil, left us something.” Clint is holding up the disc for them to see and they gather around to take a better look at it.  
“What is the manner of it,” declares Thor. “Well, it’s addressed to us,” observes Bruce. “So, a message perhaps.”  
“I thought so too, Bruce.” Clint affirms.

“From the dearly departed, Son of Coul,” Thor clarifies.

“Yeah.”

“Look, maybe we don’t have to watch it today,” interjects Tony. “I mean what with the,” he waves his hands, “and all that.”

Clint looks at the disc in his hand forlornly.

“What do _you_ want to do, Clint,” asks Steve.  
“I wanna watch it,” replies Clint. He is looking up at Steve, and there is wistfulness and determination in his expression. Steve nods. “I’ll get the lights.”  
Tony throws his hands up in defeat and leans off the wall to take his place by the rest of the team as they pick out spots to lounge on.  
“You’re awfully quiet,” Clint asks Natasha as they set up the home theatre.

“It’s been a long day,” she replies, but not without one of her own small, but genuine smiles. “It’ll be quick. I promise” And she just laughs at that; light and tinkling. “Since when has that phrase ever worked?” Clint frowns. “It has. It’s just- sometimes the context isn’t right.” “Mhm.” Clint rolls his eyes in good humour and slips the disc into the console. “Whatever.”

It is only when they’ve all seated that Clint starts the disc. They’re all huddled around the coffee table. Bruce is seated with his back to the couch, and Natasha has taken up residence on Clint’s corner of the couch, while Thor takes the other end. Tony is in an armchair half hidden behind a throw pillow. Clint scoots forward in his seat and Natasha’s ankle brushes his hip. The video starts. All of a sudden Phil's face fills the screen, and Clint has to catch his breath. This Phil is bright, cheery, and just a touch tainted by the dark purples under his eyes. He is almost healthy and whole.

"Hello, Clint. Everyone." he says. "It was encouraged that something be left behind to help our spouses, and family deal with the fall out. Whether I survive or not doesn't have much of an effect on these videos, but if I do survive, then we could be sitting on this sofa right here musing over this." Phil looks off camera then, but Clint is too stunned to react. "I'm not sure what the best way to do this is, in fact I don't even know what I'm doing, so let's take this slow and see where we end up, shall we?" Phil is smiling back at the camera then; all crinkly eyed, and intrinsic beauty, and Clint thinks his heart is bottoming out. Natasha is curling in on herself beside him, and out of the corner of his eye, Clint sees Tony’s sad frown deepen. “It is said that I should be leaving a message of profound significance. Unfortunately, I’ve never been one to fully articulate just how much you and the Avengers inherently mean to me – despite continuous protests. So I have prepared a montage – with the help of Stark ,” Everyone looks at Tony then, and he sinks deeper into his chair. “This is perhaps trivial to the least, but these are a collection of memories I have always found dear to me, and if I could share them with you, then perhaps you would fully understand just how much each and every one of you mean to me, especially you, Clint.” “Hear, Hear,” cheers Thor, and that breaks the somber mood.

“So,” continues Phil. “Without further ado, I present you, this montage.”

The screen fades to black and another video follows it.

The screen shows a Clint caught sneaking about in a vent. It's an awkward shot and Clint's belt loop is stuck on an errant bit of metal jutting out of the vent walls. His face is uncharacteristically red and he stops mid-struggle when the video carrier makes himself known. “I can explain.” “Barton, get out of the vents. There are repairs are going on overhead, and we don’t need to be losing anymore repairmen because one of ours couldn’t keep to their end of the tumble gym.” “Yes, sir. I’ll just- can you help me with this?” There is a sigh, and the camera is laid aside.

The next shot is of Clint presenting Phil with a present at an annual SHIELD Christmas party. It’s actually more of Clint practically dropping the present into Phil’s lap and fleeing before he could get a reaction. The camera swivels around to pan in on Phil’s stunned face, and there is a voice behind the camera sounding suspiciously like Maria Hill saying “Pay up” to someone next her.

The following shot shows both Clint and Phil, vaguely conscious, battered and patched, but otherwise whole and seated on a bench in an aircraft carrier. They are listing into each other, and a voice chimes in from a corner of the camera. “What are you doing?” “Blackmail,” answers Jasper Sitwell.

The next one is a shocker and it has Nick Fury in the frame, pinching strongly between his eyes mid-rumble. “I am too old for this shit,” they hear him say. On the far right corner of the screen are Phil and Clint with limbs wrapped around each other like a pair of limpets. Clint is rumpled, tacky with blood, and possibly missing a good chunk of his field suit. He is also kissing the air out of Phil’s lungs, and Phil seems all too willing to oblige being snogged senseless in the middle of an air craft hangar. “Will you get that shit out of my face,” Fury yells.

The next scene is shot in a beautiful garden. There is a full wedding ensemble in the background and the camera is focused on a well dressed couple slow dancing amongst guests on a make shift dance floor. Phil’s forehead is pressed against Clint’s and he has a palm over the vicinity of his heart. Clint is sharing the same moony expression and it could very well be the happiest Clint has ever looked. Out of the corner comes Tony with a champagne glass in tow, and he is sauntering towards the new couple. He appears to be offering his congratulations, except, he smacks Phil’s behind as he passes them, and throws a wink in Clint’s direction. Not much can be seen after that because the camera suddenly drops and Pepper’s panicked voice comes over the speakers right before there is high pitched squeal and the sound of a body hitting the floor with a thud.

In true fashion, the following scene is of an anniversary and a birthday, but it is a small, intimate affair. Phil is picking Clint off the floor from where he is sandwiched in between Natasha and the couch. He leads him up by the hand, and then he is drawing Clint in for a kiss under streamers, balloons, and a handful of gaudy but mismatched banners that have the Avengers’ influence all over it. Bruce and Steve are catcalling and Natasha wolf whistles shrill and loud. The camera pans to Tony and he is beside himself with tears as he weeps into Thor’s arms like the big softhearted man that he is.

The next scene is unexpected, and the lot of them are caught in the heat of a vicious city battle. The video quality is different this time. There are symbols, diagrams, and even statistics running across and over portions of the screen. It looks a lot like the video feed from inside Iron Man’s HUD helmet, and the helmet is watching the progress of a lone figure atop the edge of a crumbling building. “Uh, a little help here guys?” Hawkeye’s voice over the com link is incredulous and just a touch desperate. “In a moment, feathers. Kinda busy over here.” Something large slams into the opposite side of the building and it begins going down hard and fast. “Any time now!” “Hulk,” yells Captain America. There is a distant roar over the speakers, and Black Widow is tapping into the com link. “He’s too far out. He won’t be able to make it in time. Stark!” “I know! Damn it. I’m almost-” a pulse hits Iron Man square in the chest, and he stumbles backwards in time to hear Hawkeye fall backwards over the building, shrieking as he falls. There is a unison shout for Clint over the coms, and out of the corner of the video feed something is jetting towards Hawkeye falling out of the sky. The HUD zooms in on the bogey and it is Phil Coulson, all nine yards of competence and purpose as he speeds towards Hawkeye with a Stark jetpack prototype strapped to his back. There is a brief moment where everyone is holding their breath, and then Phil is colliding with his target; wrapping himself around Hawkeye as he slows their speedy descend, but it’s still too close to the ground and there is nothing to buffer their impact. Everyone one is running towards them now, but neither are close enough until a determined roar echoes throughout the street and something large and green is throwing itself under the falling duo. The Hulk catches them, and everyone exhales identical sighs of relief. “Good God,” grieves Iron Man. “Of all days to pick a day off, Thor had to choose this one. I think I need to restart my heart.”

The montage ends there, and Phil’s face returns to the screen. There is a light flush creeping up his neck, turning his ears red. He is embarrassed, and Clint feels a pang in his chest because there is Phil, beautiful as always…but unreachable.

“And that’s that. It may not do much justice to my show of gratitude for each and every one of you, but I hope that it has, to an extent been able to communicate that.”

“It was only doing Clint justice,” muttered Natasha, but her eyes are shining with amusement.

“What I meant to say was,” Phil continues, “is that I am truly and utterly grateful for each and every one of you. For Steve, For Natasha, For Stark–” “Hey! How come I still don’t get a first name?!” “– and For Bruce. You are the family I never thought I needed until you came along and I was quite literally thrown in to wrangle you, but I do thank you, wholeheartedly for being there for us all the way through. And to you, Clint. I will always love you. Even though you still leave globs of toothpaste in the sink and drink straight out of the coffee jug,” Clint laughs at that; small and melancholy. “You are, and forever will be the greatest gift I could ask for, and I am glad for every waking moment spent with you.” Phil chokes up a little at that, and Clint can hear Bruce and Thor sniffling surreptitiously into their sleeves. “But when I am gone, Clint, know that you are not alone. That you still have family, and that is in the six of you – the very people who have been through more turmoil and upheaval than any other, and yet still managed to came out whole.” Tony waves his hand in objection. “Actually, some of us–” “Can it Stark,” hisses Natasha. Everyone misses the last part of Phil’s line and they’re squabbling to rewind it when Phil pauses, and they still in turn – transfixed. Phil inhales, and then he says, “look after each other will, you? As a last wish? Family is important, and when all else fails, it will be the only one to help you heal.”

Phil smiles brightly at the camera then. He nods at it; an approval at the finality of the gesture, and then switches it off.

The rest of them sit there like that for while; each overwhelmed and lost into their own thoughts as the TV screen continues to flicker gray static.  
“Anyone up for some Chinese for dinner,” asks Clint suddenly.  
Everyone looks at him puzzled and some, vaguely scandalised. “It’s just,” he starts slowly “dinner was a long time ago, and burnt, and we still haven’t had any…”

“Aye, I think it is a splendid idea,” resounds Thor without another word.

“Could we maybe have it on delivery,” suggests Bruce

“Ugh, yes please,” groans Natasha. “I am in no shape for more than takeout on a couch. What the hell, is in this couch anyway? It’s like a magnet for lazy.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” challenges Clint, and though there still is sorrow etched deep in the lines of his face, there is enough hint of a mischievous glint in his eye as well. Natasha takes it for the warning that it is, and leaps out of the couch like she’s been burned. “You’re all five,” grouses Tony from his fort of an armchair. “Whatever Tony, go on and get the orders done already,” deadpans Clint. “I knew it. You all just love me for my money!”

The living room descends into more noise and ribbing, and Clint knows that though it may take a long time before he heals – if he will ever heal – he believes that maybe, just maybe Phil was right, and that as long as he has the Avengers family by his side, the world wouldn’t be that lonely or cold of a place without Phil in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cancer is no joke and of all the family members I have, that have been struck by this, only one has survived, and it is not without difficulty. So, please get yourselves checked regularly. It is the best that you can do for yourself and your loved ones.
> 
> Title is by The Honey Trees' song of the same name.


End file.
